It was a beautiful morning and I wanted to get to Napier today.. The river current ran lazily towards the ocean carrying me along with it on its silky smooth surface. Forty-five minutes later I was once again at the river mouth. This time I was able to stop in advance and alighted to survey the flow out to sea.
I was brought to a temporary halt whilst Mum and her children crossed my bow.
I had been warned at dinner on the previous evening that people had drowned here. Interestingly (or reassuringly), the advice I received regarding a safe exit mirrored the very approach I’d adopted on entering.
I noted a number of fishermen working the currents and reeling in what may well have been kingfish. It was a glorious sight with them silhouetted against the sparkling water with the sun still at an early morning angle.
Fishermen at the river mouth.
The strong water flow is easily identifiable.
Whilst assessing the flow and waves I was fortunate enough to observe a speedboat take a look and then run for it. It started as I imagined I would but then took a more direct route directly out and through the waves that were breaking on a shallow bank.
I would do exactly the same I decided, but where he slowed with the approaching waves I would simply paddle harder. A fisherman yelled something out to me as I worked my way across the current to my preferred line hoping I was making the progress I required to line up the waves. I was unsure as to what he said so I simply nodded and grinned in his direction.
My line was good and I straightened and pierced one wave, and then rode above the crest of the next, to find myself in smooth unaffected waters beyond the discharge. The sea was at is best. Only the slightest of breezes - just enough to take the sting out of the sun’s touch - and water the colour of milky jade.
The sea was at its best and the water the colour of milky jade.
At 11:25am I took the opportunity to beach and offer some relief to the backside and right hand before commencing again fifteen minutes later. Up until that point I’d been hugging the coast but gusty squalls were now the order of the day and were seemingly being channelled in all directions depending on the whims of the bays that funnelled them. In all directions except of course, one that assisted me.
I paddled further out to sea hoping to pick up the forecast north-westerly in a consistent manner. As previously indicated I was flying blind without my GPS and I was unsure as to the landmarks that passed me by. Was this bay, this one, or was it that one? Would the next landmark offer confirmation on it being that one or this one? I had to get a replacement, and quickly.
As I was heading further out I noted a boat slowly trolling for fish so I paddled in a line that would see me intersect with their path and as I neared, waved to them to let them know I wished for their attention. It was windier out here but still not the favourable direction I was seeking.
I asked them if they could confirm what headland lay up ahead in the distance and received confirmation that it was as I thought. Still a way off however. I asked them how far to Napier and the thirty-eight kilometres was more than I’d hoped. It had just turned 1:00pm and the distance to travel suggested to me that Napier would not be reached until 6:00pm. The squalls had taken their toll and I was behind schedule.
The two guys then told me I would make it but this offered little reassurance understanding that they cannot know how quickly I am travelling, or how much energy I might have left in the tank. They did confirm that the winds further out were blowing in the right direction so I headed further out still and then the going was excellent for almost an hour-and-a-half. It took its toll however, lifting the rating, as was required, to surf the wind swells and chop.
About this time I noticed a small picturesque bay with a sandy beach, nestled between high spectacular headlands and cliffs, and even a small tidal river mouth. I decided then that Napier would be out of reach for a another day yet, and following the one-in the-hand philosophy chose to make for it and set camp.
The sight of the pretty bay won me over and I beached. Napier would wait until tomorrow.
It was only 2:30pm but I was spent and the quality of the sight in front of me was just too good to pass up. A relatively flat area covered by hardy grassy tufts on a sandy base beneath the spectacular mudstone precipice was the chosen site after first ensuring that I was far enough removed from any telltale signs of rock falls.
I was extremely happy with the site.
I was extremely happy with the site although the swirling and gusting winds had begin to work there way inside my cove via the small river valley that defined it. I’d succeeded in erecting the tent before the worst of it hit and cooking a meal of rice and noodles on the small stove did not pose a problem either although I had to seek some shelter behind the tent to avoid the worst of the now blustery conditions. The stronger gusts were picking up the beach’s fine sand and blasting across my chosen location. There were none other that offered greater protection.
My tent would later take a battering.
A short time later that I was ensconced in the tent reading my first ever Wilbur Smith book. I’d picked it up from a campground some weeks earlier. It was a rare find because I’d had to wade through a cardboard box that offered only choices of German language novels or Mills & Boon romance novelettes.
I was having trouble concentrating and digesting his long descriptive narrative due to the buffeting my tent was copping. The gusts were getting stronger and the din that the tent was producing was amplified greatly inside my shelter. The buffeting it was getting made me fear that it must rip along its seams.
The skeleton and membrane were warping in a frightening manner when all of a all hell broke loose. With immense fury, the end that was facing the worst of the gusts (and where I’d placed my head), buckled inwards and began twisting wildly all around me.
I threw the book down and scrambled outside to note that the tent had shaken itself completely free of its aluminium pegs along one entire edge. I observed that one peg had been flung ten metres downwind. The other three were not to be seen. I quickly located my larger plastic sand pegs and scrambled to secure the gyrating nylon being careful to shield my eyes from the whipping it tried to dish out on me.
I succeeded in resecuring the tent during a brief lull with the sand pegs driven into the firm but sandy ground with the assistance of a small boulder. It took me a few minutes to locate the missing metal pegs but upon doing so I hammered them in next to the just inserted plastic ones. They would hold for the night even when severely tested just after midnight when I awoke to another brutal buffeting.
I have begun to question my tent’s suitability to New Zealand’s stiff winds?
